Combustion
by deadcell
Summary: Watari, Tatsumi and the last bowl of ice cream.


**Combustion**

"Try _combustion_," Watari says, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose where they slid down. "It's combustion. Most likely." he points a finger at the crossword squares, counting the spaces.

Tatsumi looks up over his shoulder to see Watari with eyes squinted in thought behind the wide panes of his glasses, bright-blond hair falling in waves over his shoulder, threading against the lines of his collarbone.

Tatsumi opens his mouth to pose a question but Watari is already smiling, sitting down next to him in an empty folding chair on the outdoor deck of the JuOhCho employee lounge, 003 fluttering to the surface of the glass-topped patio table in front of them. Watari has a book and bowl of ice cream; Tatsumi eyes the bowl for a second before filling in the letters, nodding as _combustion_ fits, perfectly.

"How did you know?" Tatsumi asks, reading the list of clues for the next segment in the crossword, not looking at his partner.

"Oh, _intuition_," Watari says, and Tatsumi sees him put a spoonful of the ice cream in his mouth. "And I read the clue—" he pauses as 003 waddles over to the bowl on the tabletop, leans in to investigate before Watari waves a warning spoon in her face. "Now now," he says to his creation, "You _know_ you can't eat that."

Tatsumi turns his head, eyes the bowl. "That looks refreshing," he says, suddenly aware of the sweat on his face.

"Oh… yes… well, I'm afraid there's no more," Watari says, looking down at the book he's opened before briefly making eye contact with Tatsumi. He looks down again. "I think I took the last of it…"

"What _happened_ to all of it?" Tatsumi asks.

"Tsuzuki happened, I'm afraid."

Tatsumi looks at his partner, incredulous. "There were _two gallons_, Watari."

Watari bites gently on his spoon to try to stifle his laughter; Tatsumi hears the quiet click of teeth against metal and Watari's sharp exhalation as he fails to keep a straight face. Watari looks back down at his bowl of ice cream before holding it out to Tatsumi. "Sorry, " he says, "but I'm afraid that's the situation."

Tatsumi sighs, shakes his head and takes the bowl from Watari, and Watari hands him the spoon. "Should be taken out of his paycheck," Tatsumi muses, "especially on a day like today…"

"You _know_," Watari says, "You should write a memo. Or, _I_ could write a memo—interoffice, no less—_ice cream damages incurred by loss of inner-refrigerator property during summer will be billed to the perpetrator_…"

Tatsumi swallows a mouthful of ice cream. "Tsuzuki would never get paid," he says, and as he takes the next spoonful in his mouth he looks up at Watari, pauses as he sees Watari's eyes, focused on Tatsumi's mouth in the same way he watches, intently, his projects in the labs.

"Seiichirou," Watari murmurs, and Tatsumi looks up at him, shocked by the use of his name. Watari leans close to Tatsumi, one hand sliding to the side of Tatsumi's face while the other moves to his mouth. Tatsumi freezes, spoon halfway down to the bowl, and waits.

Watari's thumb slowly swipes away a spot of ice cream from the corner of Tatsumi's mouth. "You've got ice cream on your face," Watari says. "_So_ unlike you." He draws back and puts the finger in his mouth, sucks the ice cream off, eyes locked with Tatsumi's.

Sometimes Watari's hair is too bright to look at in the sun, and right now is one of those moments; though Tatsumi attributes this to the assumption that Watari's mouth and tongue are just as cold as the ice cream now, and Tatsumi can't help but imagine how it might feel if he touched his lips there, felt the chill turning fast to heat, vanilla and mint warming in the heat of his partner's mouth.

Watari breaks the tension, smiles brightly at Tatsumi and picks his book back up. "_Lovely_ day," he says brightly, and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs and resting the open book over his knee.

Tatsumi sets the bowl and spoon down on the tabele, adjusts his glasses, clears his throat. "Yes," he agrees, his voice a bit too clipped, and he looks away from Watari, the rising warmth in his cheeks from far more than just the sun as he tries to concentrate on hint number _23, across_.


End file.
